


miles high

by alotofthingsdifferent



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M, Porn Without Plot, handjobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-07
Updated: 2015-12-07
Packaged: 2018-05-05 13:48:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5377532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alotofthingsdifferent/pseuds/alotofthingsdifferent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This wasn’t the way this season was supposed to go.</p><p>They all know it, and they all feel it, and they’re all more than a little on edge, frustration and anger bubbling just below the surface. It’s only a matter of time before one of them loses their cool, and Nick knows that as captain, it’s his responsibility to catch it before it happens.</p><p>He didn’t expect Sergei to be the first to fall.</p>
            </blockquote>





	miles high

**Author's Note:**

  * For [folignos](https://archiveofourown.org/users/folignos/gifts).



> A special gift for my dear Jay, who deserves much better than this silly little story. I hope you like it anyway, babe!

This wasn’t the way this season was supposed to go.

They all know it, and they all feel it, and they’re all more than a little on edge, frustration and anger bubbling just below the surface. It’s only a matter of time before one of them loses their cool, and Nick knows that as captain, it’s his responsibility to catch it before it happens.

He didn’t expect Sergei to be the first to fall.

“Not in the mood, Fligs,” he snaps when Nick flops dramatically into the empty seat next to him, mumbling something about a sore neck and using Sergei as a pillow. Nick straightens immediately, takes in Sergei’s posture, the way he’s curved his body towards the window, his forehead pressed against it. They’re on the wing, and Nick can see the steady blink-blink of the lights just beyond Sergei’s profile. The tension radiating from him is clear, a flashing “Leave Me Alone” sign if Nick has ever seen one. But the thing is.

The thing is, Nick’s never been very good at leaving Sergei alone.

“Hey,” Nick says, his voice low. The plane is quiet; most of the guys have already disappeared under their headphones or behind sleep masks, arms folded over their chests and their mouths turned down into frustrated frowns. They’re on a six-game skid, so Nick’s not surprised that no one’s talking. “This isn’t on you.”

It’s probably not the right thing to say. Nick doesn’t care, because it’s the truth. 

Sergei scoffs, his lips curving into just the hint of a bitter smile. “Can’t win a game when goalie can’t make a stop.”

Nick clenches his jaw and presses his shoulder to Sergei’s. “Can’t win a game without any offense. Can’t win a game with sloppy passes. Can’t win a game when your defense forgets to defend.” He’s talking quietly, but he feels Joey kick the back of his seat anyway. 

Sergei’s still not looking at him.

He leans in, his voice low in Sergei’s ear. “It’s not. On you.” Sergei’s quiet, and Nick sighs when his eyes fall closed. Instead of pushing, he stands up, tugs a blanket from the overhead compartment, and settles back into his seat before draping it over both their laps. Sergei opens his eyes then, glancing first at the blanket and then at Nick, and some of the tension releases from his shoulders when Nick’s hand finds his knee.

“Sorry,” Sergei mumbles, and Nick breathes out when he finally turns, his chin brushing Nick’s shoulder. “Bad mood.” 

Nick squeezes his knee and shifts closer, so they’re thigh to thigh, Sergei warm against his side. They stay like that through take-off, the quiet hum of the engine lulling Nick to the blurry edge of sleep. He startles awake at the soft sound of Sergei’s voice in his ear. “Nicky. You awake?”

Nick snuffles a little, knuckling the fuzziness from his eyes, and nods. “Mm. What’s up?” A quick glance through the tiny crack between the seats tells him that Cam and Joey are snoring behind them. 

“You think coach should sit me?”

“Sergei --”

“Six losses, Nick. Six losses, six _games_. Not good for confidence.”

Nick pinches the bridge of his nose. His hand is still on Sergei’s knee, fingers brushing the soft material of his expensive suit pants. Nick wonders fleetingly why Sergei didn’t change before they took off. He figures it was too much effort. He gets it.

“You know I believe in you, right?” he whispers, and Sergei drops his eyes, breathing out a shuddery breath. “We all believe in you, man. It’s on us, too.”

“I have to --” He stops mid-sentence when Nick’s fingertips drag over his inner thigh. Nick presses in, the slightest pressure, just enough to warn Sergei about his intentions here, to give him a chance to turn Nick down. He huffs a laugh, and Nick doesn’t miss the way his cheeks go pink, even in the dim light of the plane.

It’s not like they’ve never done this before. Nick’s hand his hand on Sergei’s dick plenty of times, and Sergei’s hand on his, but it’s always been under better circumstances and certainly never on a plane full of their teammates.

“Wanna join the mile-high club?” Nick says teasingly, and Sergei snorts, covering his face with both hands to hide his smile. 

“Idiot,” he mumbles, fond, but when Nick’s fingertips brush over the inseam of his pants, he sucks in a breath, letting his legs fall open. Nick steals another glance between the seats, and when Joey snores loudly, he noses along Sergei’s jaw, his lips brushing Sergei’s ear. 

“You’re perfect,” he whispers, and Sergei shakes his head lightly even as it falls back against the headrest. “You’re the goalie of my heart, babe,” he says, his grin touching Sergei’s skin, and Sergei laughs through his nose, turning his head to kiss Nick’s temple. 

“We really doing this?” he says, quiet, and Nick’s only answer is to cup his dick through his pants, thumbing at the zipper. Sergei bites his lip and lifts his hips, pressing into Nick’s hand. He’s still fighting a smile, and Nick wants to kiss it from his face. He settles for working Sergei’s fly open and slipping his hand inside, grinning when the smile falls from Sergei’s lips when his jaw goes slack. He slips his fingertips over the wet head of Sergei’s dick, along his length, hard and hot under Nick’s touch. Sergei’s breath is coming faster, and Nick feels the muscles in his thighs tense and loosen rhythmically. He hasn’t even gotten started yet, and Sergei’s already muttering “oh my god” under his breath.

“Shh,” Nick says softly, flattening his tongue over Sergei’s pulse point. “You want the guys to hear you?” 

“You’re an asshole,” Sergei whispers without heat, choked-off at the end when Nick finally gets a decent grip on his dick. He’s quiet after that, his teeth buried in his lower lip while Nick jerks him off, quick and sure, under the blanket. He peppers light kisses along Sergei’s jaw, sucks gently at the sensitive spot just behind his ear, until Sergei’s breath is coming in quick, quiet pants. Nick knows he’s close. It’s in the tell-tale hitch of Sergei’s breath, the way his hips roll up to meet the up-down slide of Nick’s fist. 

“C’mon, babe,” he says against Sergei’s ear, kissing the hinge of his jaw when he shivers. “I got you.”

He comes all over Nick’s fist, his face turned toward the window and his hips off the seat. Nick kisses his neck, his cheek, the corner of his mouth, and Sergei smiles, his eyes still closed. “You’re cleaning this up,” he manages, and Nick laughs, wiping his hand on the blanket still covering Sergei’s lap. 

“Hey,” he says, his chin resting on Sergei’s shoulder. “I mean it.”

“Hmm?” Sergei questions. 

“I got you. No matter what.”

Sergei smiles then, turns towards Nick to kiss him, soft and sure. “I know,” he whispers, and settles in, his head a welcome weight on Nick’s shoulder. Nick kisses the top of his head and closes his own eyes, letting the hum of the plane and the steady rise and fall of Sergei’s breathing next to him guide him into sleep.


End file.
